Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Song
by Yih
Summary: Slash. Post HBP. Now Harry knows he should trust Snape, but does that mean he will?
1. A Snake's Loyalty

**HARRY POTTER AND THE PHOENIX'S SONG**  
_A Snake's Loyalty_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own HP and am making no profit from this.  
**Note:** I am writing the PG-13/R version of previously titled, Book Seven whereas Nenya Entwhistle will be writing the NC-17 version on her LJ. Also, it's possible I change some of the things she has written to better fit the story, but that is up to my discretion and hers. Feedback for both, Nenya and I, is highly appreciated.

-

"The deed is done, my lord," said Snape, kneeling down and keeping his head low. "Dumbledore is dead."

Voldemort's eyes had a fierce red glint. "Is that so, my snake?" The most feared wizard in the world sat on a cushioned chair in the middle of a cramped library with numerous ancient and outlawed texts. His companion, the snake Nagini, lounged on a rug in a comfortable heap, her head raised up and alert, tongue flicking.

"By my own wand," declared Snape softly, "it is so."

"You took upon another's task," said Voldemort, his sharp eyes sliding deliberately to the boy next to Snape. It was the Malfoy heir, looking small and weak compared to his father and his protector. "I did not give you leave to interfere."

Snape said nothing, but his shoulders tensed. Voldemort withdrew his wand and a high pitched sound escaped Draco's throat. The few other Death Eaters in the room were unbearably silent, their soft breathing barely audible.

"Do you dare explain yourself?" Voldemort rested his wand against his thigh and his fingers rolled it around, stroking the smooth wood with a careless certainty of his own power and control.

"Draco could not kill Dumbledore," began Snape. Draco seemed to hunch forward, trying to make himself smaller. "I am certain Dumbledore attempted to probe Draco's mind and persuade him against you. But Draco resisted."

"There are few who can resist Dumbledore," said Voldemort. "Are you saying the Malfoy boy is one of them?"

Snape nodded once. "Yes, my Lord."

"Such confidence in your godson."

Snape's jaw tightened, but he didn't bother to deny it.

"I know of the Unbreakable Vow." Voldemort paused. Pettigrew shoved a cloaked person forward and ripped off the hood, showing a pale and weak-faced Narcissa Malfoy. "She was kind enough to confess everything with the right amount of persuasion."

Draco's eyes darted to his mother, but quickly focused back on the wooden, blank floor. Snape did not risk a look at her. Instead, he kept steady and still. Nothing about his demeanor changed, not even when he was confronted with evidence of his intervention.

"Young Draco Malfoy," Voldemort stated, smoothing a wrinkle out of his expensive black robes, "you are your father's son, are you not?"

"Yes, my Lord," Draco said, his head bent and his eyes still gazing down. "I am my father's son and your servant."

"We shall see." Voldemort narrowed his eyes and raised his wand, pointing it at Draco while Narcissa wailed in alarm. "_Legilimens!"_

Draco's mind was slammed with the mind-reading spell. He had no chance to block his mind. Voldemort's plunge was too fast, too fierce to stop. Draco's eyes rolled back into his head and his body collapsed forward, braced by both hands.

Unbidden, the memory that Voldemort sought came easily. Obviously the confrontation with Dumbledore was foremost on the young man's mind. Voldemort tore it apart, ripping at the pieces he wanted, and seizing them. Yes, the conversation—the final demise of his greatest adversary.

"_He's a double agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!" screamed Draco, but his hands were shaking._

"_There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore, his eyes staring directly into Draco's. "So let us discuss your options…"_

"_But I got this far, didn't I?" Draco said slowly, trying to rip his eyes away from the gaze but unable to._

"_It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now." _

Voldemort laughed harshly when he saw Snape point the wand toward Dumbledore and utter the Killing Curse as the old wizard begged for his life from Draco's memory. When the light died out of Dumbledore's eyes, Voldemort released Draco, whose arms gave away as he sank to the floor, shuddering. Voldemort stared at the young Malfoy with piercing red eyes.

"Hesitation implies weakness," said Voldemort. "I do not mark those that are _weak_."

Draco pushed himself back to an upright position. "I am _not_ weak."

"Circumstances suggest otherwise." Voldemort's fingers were wrapped tightly around his wand, ready to snap it to use at a minute's request. "It is a pity that I have already marked you."

"My lord," Snape spoke up, not wavering when Voldemort's gaze landed on him, "you underestimate Draco."

"Do I?" said Voldemort. "Do you dare question?"

"No, my lord. However, you forget what Draco has accomplished. He has done what no other of your servants has succeeded in. He breached Hogwarts and kill Dumbledore," said Snape. "Perhaps he was weak in his indecision, but you sensed the _Legilimency._ What Draco failed in was to occlude his mind against a very good Legilimens."

"I do not accept failure easily."

Snape lifted his face up and gazed at Voldemort. "I understand, my lord."

"Good." Voldemort pointed his wand at Snape. "_Legilimens!_"

Snape's body tensed when the spell hit him like a whip. His mind resisted the intrusion for a moment before snapping open and allowing Voldemort's mind to latch onto his. Snape shuddered, but his face was still up, and his eyes connected with Voldemort's in a stare. Grasping the memory and pulling it free, Voldemort shoved both of them in to drown in the past.

_Snape ran into the room, wand out and alert. "We've got a problem, Snape," said Amycus, "the boy doesn't seem able—"_

"_Severus…" said Dumbledore's pleading voice._

_Snape's eyes darted to the old, wandless wizard and their eyes met in a searing wave of one emotion—begging desperation. It was overwhelming, pulsing around both Snape and Voldemort surrounded as they were by the memory. Snape's face twisted when a fierce anger and abhorrence overrode any other feeling within him. _

"_Severus…please…"_

_Snape raised his wand with a steady hand and pointed it toward Dumbledore. "_Avada Kedavra!"

_A green light, bright and strong, coursed out of the wand and hit Dumbledore directly in the chest and the once Headmaster flew backward, toppling down and falling. The great light wizard, the wizard who had defeated the dark Grindelwald was finally gone, dead._

Voldemort's eyes were gleaming when he retreated from Snape's mind. "He begged you," he almost hissed. "He pleaded with you. He trusted you and you betrayed him, my most _loyal_ servant."

Snape lowered his head. "But it is not as simple as that, is it?" said Voldemort sharply. "He didn't ask for his life, he asked you to kill him, did he not?"

"He did, my lord," said Snape.

"He wanted something from you in his death. He thought it would entrench you in my Inner Circle, but you are already in. Well done, my snake. He thought you were his man, his spy!" said Voldemort sneered triumphantly. **"**But you are not, are you?"

"I am yours, my lord."

"You are," agreed Voldemort, lowering his wand and resting it back against his thigh. "You deserve a boon for your services tonight. What will you ask? A new potions laboratory, perhaps? A few rare texts?"

Sliding his eyes over to a white-faced Draco, Snape said, "I would like to take Draco as my apprentice."

Draco sucked in some air rapidly and it made a funny pitched noise going down his throat. He had enough of his senses not to speak, though his eyes did dart over to Snape. Voldemort gazed at Draco for a long moment before returning his focus to Snape.

"Why take upon a failure?" inquired Voldemort.

"He is one of the best brewers in my class," said Snape. "He can prepare the materials."

"A servant then. Appropriate for his lack of service."

"Indeed, my lord."

"In addition to being your _godson_."

Snape nodded once, knowing better than to deny it.

Voldemort tapped his wand carelessly against the arm of his chair. "It would be too much of a reward."

"You have my word," declared Snape fiercely, raising his face, "it will not be."

"Do I?" said Voldemort, staring into Snape's dark eyes. "I do. Take him then."

Snape bowed once again. "Thank you, my lord."

-

Silence was the mantra coming and going from wherever they were. Snape didn't know. Draco certainly didn't. Voldemort kept the location of the meeting place a secret. They only knew they could Apparate there through their Dark Marks. Snape glanced back at Draco and held out his hand.

"Take it," he snapped.

Draco looked down and his pale eyes darted up. "I know the way to your house. I've been there before."

"Be that as it may," said Snape sharply, "you have not been there in six years. Take my arm _now._"

Draco placed his hand into Snape's, strangling a gasp when Snape's fingers closed tightly and painfully around his own. Snape closed his eyes, focused on his house at Spinner's End, and Apparated. There was a loud crack and they blinked out of sight.

As normal, his stomach rolled. While Apparition was his preferred method for traveling, that didn't mean Snape enjoyed it. Anything that meant moving his body without a physical medium was disorienting, though he was careful never to show it. Snape lowered his eyes at Draco's now flushed cheeks and started walking to his stone gray house.

"Follow me," he snarled.

That snapped Draco to attention. His godson obeyed and soon they were standing in the stark foyer where a narrow staircase led to the second floor. Snape jerked his hand in the upward direction. "Go," he said. "You know which room."

Draco opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but he closed it. His body tensed, his eyes shifting around nervously before his lips parted and he said, "Yes, sir." He trudged up the stairs with as much weariness as he dared show. Snape narrowed his eyes and watched until Draco disappeared.

Stalking to his shoddy potions laboratory, Snape opened the door and slammed it shut with enough force to cause the frame to shudder. Snape sat down heavily on a wooden stool and stared at the shelves and shelves of books to the far wall. His eyes remained locked on the inanimate objects until his vision blurred and he began to see other things.

_He had clutched the sleeve near his Dark Mark. It was burning, telling him to go, but did he dare? Dumbledore had told him to go, with promises of redemption, but salvation for the damned was a pittance of poverty. Snape snarled and Apparated, ignoring the sickening urge in his stomach and the magnifying pain on his arm. _

"_Severus Snape," hissed Voldemort. "You who proved traitor—"_

"_I am not!" he declared fiercely, sinking to his knees on the harsh rocks. "I am your most loyal servant, my lord." _

"_A fallacy," said Voldemort in a dangerously low voice, "do you take me for a fool?" _

"_No, my lord," said Snape. "Dumbledore is the fool. He believes that I betrayed you for him. I have been your loyal spy all along. I have stayed at Hogwarts like you bid me to and I have more than a decade's worth of knowledge, of information, of secrets for you." _

_Voldemort's red eyes pierced into Snape's being. "Talk."_

_And so the words spilled from Snape's lips._

The burn of Cruciatus had lingered for days afterwards. Snape repressed the urge to shudder. Instead, his eyes traveled to several mislabeled potion vials. Some said they were love potions; others, sleeping draughts. He raised his wand and whispered, "_Accio _Esurio Potion."

Snape grasped the crimson glass and pulled a shallow dish to him. He uncapped the vial and poured the silvery liquid in. The surface rippled and splashed until everything was in. He didn't dare gaze until everything had settled. Then he touched and broke the peace.

_A younger, less lined Snape staggered into the Headmaster's Office, his face stark white. Dumbledore looked up from his desk, his own face a bit pale. "Yes, Severus?" _

_Snape opened his mouth and the words came like air in a choked throat, "Lily's dead." _

"_Yes," said Dumbledore wearily. "Word arrived an hour ago." _

"_She's dead!" hissed Snape. "She! My only friend."_

"_I am your friend as well." _

_Snape sneered and thrust his face at the tired old wizard. "Do you think that? You, who know what I am!" _

"_I think the question of the day," Dumbledore stated, "is why are you here?" _

"_Lily's dead… Potter and—it's because of me!" shouted Snape, his eyes red and strained. "But the child's alive. The prophecy… why did he have to choose them?"_

"_I think you know the reason." _

"_I…"_

"_You should," murmured Dumbledore. "Voldemort chose the child he most feared, the child most like himself." _

_Snape turned away and stared at the portraits lining the wall. Some of them were avidly listening and others weren't in their frames. But far more eyes than he'd like were staring at him. _

"_Lily's dead," he said dully. "I asked the Dark Lord to spare her." _

"_The ties of friendship," reflected Dumbledore, "prosper in spite of fragmentation." _

_Snape's jaw tightened. "He tried to kill her child." _

"_An innocent," whispered Dumbledore. _

"_And she stepped in front of a Killing Curse willingly."_

_Dumbledore sighed sadly. "The depth of a mother's love is not a thing to be underestimated." _

"_He's gone," said Snape hoarsely. "The Dark Lord's gone." _

"_Indeed." Dumbledore stood up. "Wait here, Severus. I will be back." _

"_Where are—"_

"_There is something I must attend to," he stated. "But it won't take long."_

Not one of his fondest memories, Snape thought, and not the memory he had been after. But he was after something that involved Dumbledore, so it only made sense that one with the late Headmaster would pop into his mind, _especially_ this one. Snape pressed his lips into a flat line and dipped his hand back into the liquid.

"_So Dumbledore has told you his story of me," said Voldemort, his face haggard and drawn. But his deeply set eyes burned a deep red and his lipless mouth was full of words. "And you were properly shocked, of course." _

"_Yes, my lord." _

"_Dumbledore always did like to believe the best in people, too bad he couldn't extend the offer to me. But then his kindness is a shallow, vapid thing. He wields it like a weapon to manipulate and he knew he couldn't with me." _

_Snape said nothing and kept his eyes down. _

"_He thinks he knows me," hissed Voldemort. "But he is a foolish old man and soon age will corrode his power. Then there will come his dying day." Voldemort turned to him and his bony hand lifted Snape's chin. His dark eyes flickered up and met Voldemort's. "My loyal snake," said Voldemort, "so alike we are, inferior _Muggle_ fathers and pureblood mothers who were imprudent._

"_Lured to the Dark Arts, compelled to them beyond all reason." Snape shuddered when Voldemort's fingers brushed against his right cheek. "There is only one difference. I am Master and you are Servant. You are mine." _

_Swallowing with difficulty, Snape nodded. "I am yours, my lord." _

_Voldemort laughed, so beautiful and so ugly._

Snape flinched when his eyes blurred the memory out of focus. Wrong one again. He gripped the bowl, wanting to throw it at the wall, spill the liquid memories. He didn't usually have problems finding the scene he wished to analyze again, to relive. But tonight was not a good night.

He steeled his resolve and plunged his hand in one more time.

_The door flew open and Snape stalked through it, his robes billowing behind him. He went straight to the Headmaster and thrust his face at him. "Do you think you know me, old man?" _

_Dumbledore raised his head. "I know you better than you think." _

_Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "Then you don't know me at all." _

"_You forget, my boy, that the wards are quite sensitive," stated Dumbledore calmly. "They pick up the most minute details." _

"_You knew then." Snape pressed his hand over his arm. _

_Dumbledore peered over his glasses. "Severus, there is little at Hogwarts that I do not know about." _

"_Then…why?"_

"_Why I have not called the Aurors?" _

"_Yes," said Snape sharply. "If you knew." _

"_You are not inherently bad," replied Dumbledore. "There is much good you could do, if you wanted." _

_Snape drew back like he'd been hit by a Disarming Spell. "You are a fool." _

"_But you are here," said Dumbledore. "Are you not?"_

_Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "The Dark Lord knows of the Prophecy. I was the one who overheard and told." He paused and his left eye twitched. "He's decided on the Potter family." _

"_Choosing the halfblood over the pureblood," remarked Dumbledore. "In a way, quite predictable."_

"_What are you implying?" hissed Snape. _

"_You are sharp," said Dumbledore. "I think you know what I mean." _

"_You are saying he's a halfblood!" _

"_Which he is." Dumbledore pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Voldemort knows how extraordinary halfbloods can be. Are you not an example of that, my boy? A genius at potions, crafting dark curses before you were of age, and a very powerful wizard. But like you, he wished to hide it. He's not proud of his Muggle father, much like you." _

_Snape breathed in and out harshly. "I thought… he was a pureblood," he gritted out. "He asked me to spy on you." _

"_I know," replied Dumbledore. "But that's not why you're here." _

_Snape said nothing, simply staring at Dumbledore's eyes. _

"_You want a way out." _

_Snape nodded once. _

"_I was hoping you'd come to me." _

The right memory. Snape felt the tension from the past and present prick at his being. He picked up his wand and pointed it to a cabinet. _"Accio_ Dreamless Sleep."

A small blue bottle flew out of it and into his hand. Snape unstoppered it and sniffed at the contents. Spinner's End wasn't as well-equipped as his quarters at Hogwarts yet. In a week or so, it would be. He took another whiff of the slightly acrid scent. Smelled just about right, he tipped the entire potion into his mouth and dropped down onto an overstuffed chair.

It was a pity that life's messes could not be solved entirely by Potions.

-

Morning came as mornings do. Snape groaned when he raised his head from the awkward position against the back of the chair and glared at the sun streaming into his laboratory from the only window he had installed. He rubbed his tired eyes and snapped his head to the door when he heard it creak. Standing at the entrance was Draco.

"Professor?" he said.

Snape crooked his finger. "You may come in."

Draco stepped into his laboratory and tentatively looked around. While this might not be the first time Draco had been in Snape's house, he had never stepped foot into his private laboratory. After all, a Potions Master's place of experimentation was hardly the place for a child, no matter how intelligent. Snape gestured for Draco to take a seat in the only other chair he kept in the room.

"You are up early," said Snape, peering at Draco with a discerning look. "That is quite unusual for you."

Draco said nothing to deny it, though his jaw tightened with irritation. "I came to ask you a question."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "Which is?"

"_Why?"_ cried Draco, sounding much more like himself than he had thus far. "Tell me!"

"Do you think I owe you an explanation to anything when it was _your_ failure that put me into this position?" asked Snape pointedly, his dark eyes bearing down on Draco. "Or must I remind you the dire situation you are in?"

"I know I failed!" exclaimed Draco. "_I know, I know, I know. _I'm weak. I couldn't kill him. I just… couldn't. I don't know why! I thought I could, I thought _I would._"

"Control yourself!" snapped Snape, standing up from his chair and striding over to Draco. "This is no time to let your childish emotions overwhelm you."

Draco looked up at the Potions Master and said in a choked voice, "He was going to kill me, wasn't he?"

"The Dark Lord does not take too kindly to failures."

Draco flinched and lowered his eyes. "The Dark Lord… he doesn't want me anymore, does he? What will happen to me now?"

"Are you deaf?" asked Snape sharply. "Did you not hear what I said last night?"

"I…" began Draco hesitantly. "I am to be your apprentice?"

"Yes," said Snape tersely.

Lifting his gray eyes, Draco stared into Snape's unwaveringly. "I won't fail you. Whatever you ask, I will do. I owe you my life."

Snape reached out with his hands and cupped Draco's pale face, his thumbs ghosting over the boy's cheekbones. "You owe me much more than that."

**TBC**


	2. The After Affair

**HARRY POTTER AND THE PHOENIX'S SONG**  
_The After Affair_

Disclaimer: I do not own HP and am making no profit from this.

-

The wedding of Bill and Fleur had been a welcomed retreat from the horror of Dumbledore's death. Harry sat in the twin's empty room, staring at the various knickknacks leftover and despite the earlier festivities, his mood was darker than ever. Ron had come in a quarter of an hour ago, asking him if he wanted to come down and play a game of chess, but Harry couldn't.

All he did instead was lose himself into thought. If he closed his eyes, he knew he would see the same scene over and over again like he had for the past week. Snape yelling, _"Avada Kedavra!"_ And Dumbledore collapsing, dying in front of him.

Why had Dumbledore protected him? Harry gritted his teeth. If Dumbledore hadn't, he'd still be alive and—and everything would be all right. Everything was always all right with Dumbledore. Harry might not have understood all that the Headmaster had done for him until this year, but he understood now. His greatest defender was dead. Who was he anymore?

Harry Potter. Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore's man?

All he knew was that he wanted to _destroy_ Snape, wrap his fingers around that white, pasty neck and strangle him to death. Snape didn't deserve a nice death. He deserved a horrible one for his terrible betrayal. Dumbledore had completely trusted the bastard, and look where that had led!

Harry shook in his rage and his pain. He wanted to cry, but he needed to be strong. He had to be strong. It was a matter of trying; it was a matter of necessity. Harry clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm. He would do what Dumbledore had carefully laid out for him. He knew he was the one Dumbledore had chosen to complete this task and he would do it. He'd heard the prophecy, it might not have been him originally—but it was him indisputably now.

He couldn't run from his destiny, so all he had left to do was embrace it.

First he would go to the Dursley's. The Headmaster had mentioned when he'd come to take him away, that he should go back. Harry didn't really wish to see Aunt Petunia again, but if Dumbledore wanted him to return then it was a small thing to do. After that, he needed to make sure the real locket had been destroyed… whoever R.A.B. was. Harry couldn't leave it to chance, not when Dumbledore had died for a fake horcrux! Then there were the other horcruxes out there and… and once he found them all and destroyed them—then Harry would go after Snape.

And finally, Voldemort.

-

_Dumbledore was telling him to trust Snape, but didn't he understand? Harry pushed his hand through Dumbledore's ghostly form and yelled, "Can't you see? You're dead! Snape murdered you! He can't be trusted!" _

"_Oh Harry," said Dumbledore, "have you forgotten what I said? I completely trust Severus Snape."_

_Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around, dreading who he would see and—_

"Harry!" shouted Ron, pushing at his shoulder. "Wake up. It's past noon."

His green eyes snapped open and he shoved the assailant away, reaching for his wand and pointing it at a blurry redhead. The voice, Ron's husky baritone, registered. It was his best friend and he'd just drawn his wand at him! Harry groaned and dropped his wand, letting it clatter against the floor.

"Harry?" asked Ron, stepping forward and grabbing the glasses off the side table. He placed them into Harry's hand. "You all right, mate?"

He took a deep breath and put his glasses on, blinking rapidly until he could focus on Ron's familiar face. Harry grinned reassuringly and nodded. "Just… bad dream," he croaked.

"You-Know-Who?" asked Ron, his eyes darting about a bit.

"No," said Harry in a clearer voice. "I… it's just—" He just couldn't tell Ron everything. He knew he ought to, but how could he say that Dumbledore had told him he trusted Snape, when obviously he had been so very wrong?

"What?" asked Ron as he took a seat on the bed. "You haven't told me anything in a long time, and Hermione and I—well, we can tell it's eating you up inside."

"Nightmares," murmured Harry, not able to look his best friend in the eyes. "Just nightmares."

"All right," said Ron after he smiled. "Get dressed and come down. There's some good grub downstairs."

Harry nodded and rolled out of bed.

-

Eating hadn't made him feel any better. Harry wrinkled his nose. It wasn't that food made him sick. It wasn't that at all. It just didn't make him _feel_ good. He could remember a time when he had just come to Hogwarts, when food had made him happy. But then why shouldn't it? Food had always been a luxury before.

"You aren't eating much," said Hermione in a chiding, though gentle, manner. "You haven't been eating much all week."

"Lay off of him," muttered Ron. "If he's not hungry, then he's not hungry."

It was like the first time that Ron had spoken up for him, Harry thought with a warm feeling in his stomach. Ron was always the one that got Hermione off his back, though that didn't mean Ron wouldn't nag at him in private. Harry supposed it was a boy thing, to get at each other behind a closed door rather than to go at it in public. Then again, Hermione wasn't likely to be in the same room as him when he only had his boxers on.

"Hmph," she said and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry watched her with shuttered eyes and noticed that she had an irritated look that didn't bode well for him. "I'm just trying to do what's best for him."

"And you don't think I am?" asked Ron, looking more hurt than offended.

"I didn't mean it like—"

"I'm sorry!" blurted Harry. He flushed darkly when both of them turned to him, their almost spat forgotten. "I know I haven't been a really good friend right now… but there's a lot going on my mind. I promise…" he began before the words lodged themselves in his throat. "I just—it's not like I'm not eating. I'm getting lots more food than I did when I was… younger."

"But you're growing," replied Hermione while she gestured at him emphatically. "You need nourishment."

"You sound like my mum," said Ron with a teasing tone. "_Ronald Bilius Weasley, you'd better eat all your greens if you know what's best for you!"_

Harry snickered a little and he saw that Hermione was holding back a smile of her own. He held up his spoon and took a huge bite of his soup. He raised an eyebrow and Hermione shook her head. Ron grinned and Harry knew that for now, everything was all right.

-

_Snape was sneering at him, holding the locket. But how had he gotten it? Harry tried to grab it, tried to snatch it away before Snape could take it to Voldemort. Try as he might, he couldn't reach it. He almost felt the locket, so close and yet so far away. Harry tried to scream, to say nasty things to Snape, hurt him as much as he had hurt Dumbledore. The words were stuck and he fell to his knees, completely undone. _

"_Did you think you could destroy the Dark Lord, Potter?" _

_Harry tried to get back onto his feet, but he stumbled and collapsed. _

"_Did you think you were a Savior?" hissed Snape. "You've only brought destruction and devastation. You _caused_ his death!"_

Harry woke up gasping. Every night, every night since that day there was something to unsettle him. He groaned and turned onto his stomach. He buried his face into his pillow and tried to rub the horrid nightmare away like he had done to his tears. But it was no use. He knew they would return.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, he fell asleep only to wake up a scarce hour after. Harry had lied in bed thinking and trying not to. When Ron had barreled into the room, Harry hadn't bothered trying to pretend he was still sleeping. Instead, he'd smiled at his best friend.

"Hey mate, are you going to stay in bed all day again?" asked Ron, sitting as he was on the bed. "I'd really like to spend some time with you before you head to the Dursley's. And do you really need to go? I mean, you're of age soon and all."

It wasn't that Harry _wanted_ to go, but he _had_ to. Dumbledore had asked it of him, and it was the least he could do, considering… Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, soothing breath.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry smiled and nodded. "This is something that has to be done."

Ron sighed and returned the smile. "How long will you be there? Not long, right? We've got horcruxes to chase and all."

Somehow Harry kept his face from grimacing like he felt inside. He knew that he had given Ron and Hermione plenty of time to turn back, but there was no way in hell that he was going to let them come along. This wasn't sneaking around Hogwarts and freeing Buckbeak. This was going up against Voldemort, and if Dumbledore could die—what about them? He couldn't risk them. They were all he had left.

"Mmm…" murmured Harry as he shifted around and suddenly realized he had a slight problem. "Is there still any breakfast left?"

"Yeah," answered Ron. "Mum's kept a muffin for you downstairs."

"Tell her thanks and now get out so I can get dressed."

Ron's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "Communal showers hardly make for shyness, mate."

Harry groaned and pointed decisively at the door. "Out!"

"Have a nice wank!" exclaimed Ron before he wisely shuffled out of the room.

Burying his face into the pillow, Harry wiggled his hips and sucked in air sharply at the tingling sensation. Why were his bits half-hard after that sodding nightmare? It was hardly something to induce a response like that, even if he was a young bloke. If it'd been a dream about Ginny, then yeah he'd understand. But it wasn't—it was Snape—and that was sick.

Bloody Snape. Harry snarled. No matter what, he'd avenge Dumbledore.

-

"So… Ron said you're going," remarked Hermione as she set the muffin and a cup of pumpkin juice in front of him. "When do you leave?"

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron. "Give him a chance to eat."

Harry hid a grin behind the muffin he'd snagged from the plate. "Probably tomorrow."

"When will you be back?" asked Hermione.

Ron made a strangled sound in his throat, but his eyes were bright with affection for his girlfriend. Harry could see it easily, though Hermione didn't seem to notice as she waved her hand in the air in a dismissing fashion. All her attention was focused on him.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

He took a huge bite out of the muffin so that he wouldn't have to talk. He chewed on it thoughtfully, his eyes drifting between his two best friends. He saw worry and concern on their faces. They really did care about him, probably as much as he did for them. That's why he couldn't risk them. His resolve had already been set earlier, but seeing them now—_together_… strengthened it.

"C'mon, give it a rest," said Ron, taking a seat next to Harry and propping his chin on his hands. "Considering it may be our last day together, what'd you like to do?"

Harry shrugged and swallowed. "Doesn't matter."

"'Course it does!" exclaimed Ron. "So what'll be? Quidditch? I could get Fred and George to come down in the evening after the shop closes up. I doubt they'll mind. They'd probably jump at the chance. Then there'd be three to a team and—"

"I'd rather not," said Harry, knowing that it would mean spending a significant amount of time with Ginny.

While their breakup had been fairly amicable, they certainly weren't enemies, he still felt uncomfortable being in her presence too much. She'd often shoot him looks, _significant ones_, letting him know that she wasn't afraid of whatever would happen. She might not be, but he was. Ron and Hermione were enough of a target without adding her… and however well their relationship had gone, Harry really didn't want to worry about her. His best friends were more important.

"What about chess?" asked Hermione, her eyes looking at him full of understanding.

There were times when Hermione's all-knowingness could be fairly aggravating, but this was one of the times Harry was pathetically grateful. She knew why he didn't want to play Quidditch and she was going to save him the trouble of explaining. God, did he love Hermione. Definitely, unquestionably the most important woman in his life. He smiled a bit, though maybe not forever. Maybe when this was over… he'd get a chance with Ginny. If he lived that is.

"Chess sounds great," said Harry. "Don't you think, Ron?"

Ron glanced at both of them with a curious expression before nodding. "Sounds great."

-

The soft, sweet chattering between Ron and Hermione was something Harry would carry with him to the end. They were trying to be quiet so they didn't disturb him, but he'd only pretended to be asleep in the first place. He hadn't wanted the conversation to drift back to the subject of it being too late for them to get out.

In his mind, it wasn't. The danger was ascending, but it hadn't peaked yet. There were other horcruxes to destroy and even though he might like the strength Ron and Hermione could provide, he didn't want to endanger them. No, it was better that they stayed together and safe. Harry rolled over on his side and started the little groans Ron liked to tease him about that signaled he was on the verge of waking up.

Just like he thought, Ron whispered, "We ought to leave. He's going to wake up if we keep… you know talking."

And kissing Harry mused. And touching.

"All right, let's go to your room then."

Their weight abandoned his bed and his ears heard all too clearly the sound of the door closing. It was the sign he'd been waiting for, but that didn't mean he'd wanted to hear it. There was something sad, knowing that all too soon there would be more distance and separation than there ever had been between them.

But war wasn't a pleasant affair for the weak of will.

And he would be strong.

-

He forced himself to sleep, but when morning came—he was already gone. The good thing about being him, he didn't really have many things. Not much stuff that he had to take, at least. There was that photo album from Hagrid, the invisibility cloak, and of course his Firebolt. The rest he left behind.

_Dear Ron & Hermione,_

_I'm leaving most of my things behind. I'll be back for them later. Just shrink and store them somewhere, all right? I thought it was best I head to the Dursley's before dawn. Can't be much danger that early in the morning, everyone's still bloody sleeping! I know I want to be, but might as well get this over with. _

_Love you,  
Harry_

However, they wished to interpret the letter—he'd let them. Maybe they really did think he was going to come back, ask them to help him, and put them in danger. If they did, they really didn't know him that well. Silly Ron and Hermione. Merlin save them and their love. They deserved to be happy, and he desired to see things right.

He curled his fingers tightly against his palm. Horcruxes. Voldemort. Then Snape.

-

Apparition was an uncanny, uncomfortable feeling. It felt unnatural, probably because it was. Even if magic was an extension of who he was, he didn't think his body much liked being disengaged and thrust to another place with the possibility of losing limbs. That said, he was glad he was competent at it. Misplacing an arm, a foot, an eye wasn't on his agenda. Facing the Dursleys was.

Harry steeled himself, his rucksack slung across his shoulder. He marched resolutely up the walkway to the front door and stopped. It wasn't the end of the school year yet, and they weren't really expecting him. But he wasn't going to be here too long, just long enough to get things done—even if he didn't quite know what.

Maybe he'd know once he got in. Merlin knows, Vernon wasn't going to be thrilled to see him. Disaster clung to him like a second skin. But it wasn't like he asked for it. If he could have been a normal boy, he bloody well would have been. And yet, if this was his fate, bring it on. He didn't have to do anything like Dumbledore had said. It was his choice and he chose to act.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

**TBC**


	3. Last Request

**HARRY POTTER AND THE PHOENIX'S SONG**  
_Last Request_

Disclaimer: I do not own HP and am making no profit from this.  
Feedback is very much appreciated.

-

There were some things he had once thought hard to face. His Uncle Vernon surely counted as one of them when he'd been a mere boy, but now when Harry looked at the fat cheeks and paunchy stomach—there was nothing. Well, maybe there was a little disgust, but no resentment or anger or fear. What was Vernon to Voldemort?

"What are you doing here?" blustered Vernon, the jowls under his chin shaking. "You should be at that school of yours!"

"The Headmaster died," said Harry, clutching his knapsack close to his thigh. "I'll only be staying for a little while until I can leave."

"Who's at the door?" called Petunia. Her eyes widened when she came to stand besides her husband, her face peering easily over his shoulder. "Harry? What are you doing here?" Her voice was a tad less severe, but not exactly welcoming.

"I am here to reset the wards," he answered, figuring she'd understand the significance far more than Vernon. "I don't know how to do it, but Dumbledore made me promise to come here. I think… I think it's for your protection as much as mine."

He'd been thinking about it a lot in the last few days, wondering why Dumbledore had been so adamant about him returning to the Dursley's to reinforce the blood protection. The only reason he could think of, since it really didn't do him much good when he wasn't in the house or near the grounds, was if it would also shield them from Voldemort. He didn't really care much about them, but they were his family, and he didn't want to see them die because of him. Cedric, so many others, and Dumbledore... that was enough death on his name.

"You've sent those—those menaces after us by being here!" exclaimed Vernon, trembling quite a bit. "You'd better leave now, _boy!_"

Petunia placed her hand on Vernon's shoulder, steadying him before she declared, "Harry, you'll sleep in the spare room while you're here, and you'll also help with the chores. Now go up the stairs. I'll talk with Vernon."

Harry blinked and nodded. He pushed his way past Vernon and climbed up the stairs to the second floor. Something was different about his Aunt, kinder and more understanding. He didn't know if he liked it. It was unlike her and he didn't know what to make of it.

He opened the door to the surprisingly empty room and threw himself on the made bed. Burying his face into the clean pillows, he shut his eyes and wondered if sleep would take him to an almost kind place.

-

In the middle of the night, a terrible sound woke him up. It was sharp, piercing and when Harry opened his eyes, he was as awake as if he had never fallen asleep in the first place. His green eyes whirled around the room trying to find the source of the disturbance when he saw Fawkes.

Dumbledore's phoenix. He hadn't seen Fawkes since Dumbledore's funeral. It had never occurred to him to wonder what had happened to him. Fawkes did not look good. He looked even more pitiful than he did right before he burned and was renewed.

It was only when the phoenix landed on his stomach and thrust his leg out to Harry, that he saw that Fawkes was carrying a scroll for him. Harry untied the scroll, wondering what it said when a small box fell out of it. He picked up the box curiously, but set it aside. The letter was more important.

Harry smoothed the parchment out and read the scrawl of Dumbledore's handwriting:

_My dear boy,_

_I knew before I wrote this; indeed, I have known for months that I would not survive long. I do hope I have managed to live long enough to impart some of my knowledge and understanding to you. But I fear if I haven't, then my pensieve will fulfill any gaps I may have left. _

_No matter what did happen, I would hope that I have taught you to be open to what may not seem at first what it truly is. I may have failed you in some ways, Harry, but I have not failed in other regards. You must trust me, and you must trust Snape._

_I know that it will be hard and that the two of you have never seen eye-to-eye, but trust that even though he may not seem a good man, he is. I will tell you this, Snape is not an easy person to be friends with—or even acquainted—with, but once you have his trust, he will prove himself trustworthy._

_But if my words have failed to convince you, be assured that the pensieve will show you with full clarity all that you might wish to denounce. And please Harry, look and see. That is my dying request, and my parting gift is my phoenix, now yours. Take care of him… whoever he will be._

_Yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry eyed the exhausted looking Fawkes before looking at the small package. "I suppose the pensieve is in there?"

The phoenix chirped softly, and rested himself onto Harry's chest. Fawkes closed his eyes, probably soon about to burn. Harry reached with his hand to gently stroke Fawkes' soft feathers and smiled when the phoenix crooned in a deceptively lulling way.

The last thing he remembered was the phoenix closing his sad eyes.

-

It was the crooning that woke Harry to a weak sunlight pouring into the room and flooding over Fawkes' dull red and gold plumage. The soft music vibrated through his entire being before the phoenix started to burn. Alarm shot through Harry's body, but the grip of Fawkes' claws dug in so deeply that he could not remove the phoenix even if he had dared. The fire blazing atop of him should have burned, but instead there was nothing except a gentle heat like a woolen blanket.

Harry's eyes blurred watching the dance of red-gold fly up in the air, and then slowly collapsing inward, fading into nothing but a glistening gold egg. For a moment, Harry didn't know why, but he thought that maybe this was Fawkes' last act. But that didn't seem right with the little he'd learned in Hagrid's class about phoenixes. After all, they were eternally alive through rebirth. They would die, but they were never blotted from existence. They always came back.

Unlike man, unlike Dumbledore.

His throat tightened and his eyes watered, but he did not cry. Tears were of no use now. All he needed was to figure out a way to defeat Voldemort and hopefully… the pensieve would have something useful. But if it consisted of only memories of—Harry's lip curled up in disgust—Snape and his supposed trustworthiness, then this possible godsend would be worthless.

Harry turned to the small package and ripped it open. As soon as he did, the Shrinking Charm placed on it was disabled and the pensieve grew to its original size, with swirling silver liquid that held unknowable depths. Harry swallowed and looked at the clock. It was early, early enough that even his aunt wouldn't be up. Early enough that he might have a first look at what… deluded proof Dumbledore thought he had.

Taking a breath, he sunk his hand in first.

"_Do you trust me?" asked Dumbledore. _

_The Headmaster's Office looked different, some objects were arranged differently, but Harry knew he only knew this because he'd spent quite a bit of time in Dumbledore's office to know that this wasn't what it looked like now. This was a then—a then that was only dreadfully confirmed by Snape's shorter hair and sallow youth. No grim lines carved into his skin, just smooth skin on a less than attractive face. It was ugly. Ugly. Ugly. _

_Snape crossed his arms over his chest deliberately and quickly. "It is not a matter of me trusting you, but you trusting me." _

"_True," conceded Dumbledore. "But it would be nice if you trusted me, considering what I am asking of you." _

_Snape's eye twitched. "If you had not asked me this, I would consider you a foolish old man." _

"_It is a perception most people have me, do they not?" _

_A crease formed in Snape's forehead, digging deeply as it found its home again. "You wish for them to underestimate you. That is your strength." _

_Dumbledore pushed a small container toward Snape. "Lemon drop?" _

"_No." _

_The lid snapped open and Dumbledore popped one into his mouth. "Well then, if I cannot be granted your trust, at least I will have—"_

Stubby fingers and dull nails dragged him out of the memory. Harry threw his arms out, trying to thrash his way free and he hit the solid bulk of his Uncle Vernon, who was sporting the most unpleasant expression. Over Vernon's shoulder, he saw his Aunt Petunia's startlingly pale face.

"What—" began Harry.

"You stupid boy," snapped Vernon, shaking his meaty fist in Harry's face. "You were doing that _magic_ in my house! I told you I didn't want any of that sort of thing happening! If I take you in, I expect you not to perform any of that outlandish stuff! Do you understand—"

"That's enough," said Petunia, placing her hand on her husband's arm. "Let him go."

Vernon whirled around and his blubbery face resembled a pulled grenade waiting to explode. He opened his mouth, but Petunia narrowed her eyes and to Harry's surprise, Vernon again backed down. His uncle turned back to him and muttered something being the devil's spawn before he released Harry and left.

After the door slammed shut, rattling the framework, Petunia pointed to the pensieve and asked, "What is that?"

Harry's eyes followed her arm down to the finger and then to the whirling pensieve. "It's something that holds memories."

"Memories," repeated Petunia softly. She pursed her lips briefly before directing her attention toward the golden egg. "What's that?"

Harry licked his dry lips. "A phoenix egg."

The only hint that she'd heard him was the slight widening of her eyes. "Well, breakfast is about to be served. You might want to come down and set the table," she said. "Make yourself useful."

Her words echoed in Harry's head after she had gone, through breakfast, and for the rest of the day.

-

It was not until well after he'd cleaned up the dishes and Vernon had left for his job that Harry managed to disappear into his room again. As much as he wanted to finish the interrupted memory, he also wanted to escape the odd looks he kept getting from Aunt Petunia. While she might never have been as cruel to him as Vernon, she certainly had never helped him before. There was something just off about Petunia and it was with relief that he shut the door to the second bedroom.

He leaned momentarily against it before pushing off and heading toward the bed. The phoenix egg was still nestled on top of the pillow and the pensieve was lying slightly tilted on top of his rumpled covers. To compound the weirdness even further, Petunia had been so insistent that he get downstairs for breakfast that he hadn't even had time to make his bed.

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and sat down carefully on the bed, not wanting to disturb the silvery liquid. He stared down and held his hand over it. There were some things he didn't really want to know, but he knew that he needed to know them. He couldn't afford any information to be left… unknown. Maybe he would understand why Dumbledore had been a fool and trusted Snape. After all, he wasn't blind to the git's _treachery_.

He slipped his hand into the liquid and sank his mind into the memory once more.

"_Lemon drop?" _

"_No," said Snape curtly. _

_The lid snapped open and Dumbledore popped one into his mouth. "Well then, if I cannot be granted your trust, at least I will have your vow." _

_Snape nodded, grim lines etching into his sickly pale skin. "Shall we do it now?" _

"_Do you believe you are strong enough in _Occlumency_ yet?" asked Dumbledore, continuing to suck on the candy in a languid manner. "I would not want your position to be ruined by rushing headlong into something this grave." _

"_You can try to penetrate my mind if you wish," offered Snape. "But you and I both know even if you can pierce through my barriers, it does not mean the Dark Lord can. He has never been as good of a _Legilimens_ as you are." _

_Dumbledore nodded and smacked his lips together as his teeth crunched the lemon drop into smaller and smaller pieces. "Do be safe," he said after he had swallowed the rest of his candy. "I would be most upset if something happens to you." _

_The expression on Snape's face was strained and lined quite severely for someone of his age. "I am sure," said Snape dryly. "You have nothing to fear. You can be certain I have no inclination to die." _

_Dumbledore hummed a bit. "I have much faith in you, Severus." _

_Snape pursed his lips together and lowered his eyes, saying nothing._

What vow, was the first thought Harry had. What fucking vow?

He didn't realize how heavily he was breathing until the air went in the wrong way and he ended up choking. Harry gasped and slowly calmed himself down. The only way he'd find out was if he looked deeper into the memories. He knew what Dumbledore was doing. He was laying down the foundation, getting Harry interested before breaking the grand revelation. But it had to be a good one, something that would shatter all his illusions.

And could Snape even do that after what he'd already done?

Harry plunged his head back in.

"_The boy is impossible!" said Snape, stalking into the Headmaster's Office. "He is arrogant and has the brain of a gnat, just like his father!" _

_Dumbledore looked up from the scroll he was reading, his glasses poised at the end of his nose. He placed a finger at the bridge and shoved his spectacles further up. "I am sure it is not that bad, Severus." _

"_He does not know where to find a bezoar! Or the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane!" he continued, his voice only gaining elevation. "How do you expect me to work with such an incompetent—" _

"_I do hope," said Dumbledore with his ever-twinkling eyes, "that you do not expect all your students to read their textbooks ahead of time. You are their professor and as such, you will teach them all that you wish them to know. Is that not right?" _

_Snape's thin lips became more of a line when he pressed them tightly together. His dark eyes could have leapt out of the sockets with how fiercely he was gazing at the Headmaster. The fact that his face had gone pale with anger did not flatter his appearance one bit. _

"_Be patient with him," said Dumbledore as if Snape wasn't wearing an expression of deep fury. "I know it may be difficult when much is expected from him, but you must remember, he has grown up with Muggles for the last eleven years. He does not have the upbringing Purebloods would have." _

_When Snape opened his mouth, he said something unexpected, "And whose fault would that be?"_

_Dumbledore inclined his head. "I did what I thought was best." _

"_You were a foolish old man, coddling a delusion of proper childhood!" said Snape sharply. "But your hesitance to push him into reality has made him backwards when he cannot afford to be, especially when you think that the Dark Lord is still out there!" _

"_I wanted him to have a normal life," stated Dumbledore._

"_Even if it gets him killed?" _

Harry's hands were trembling as he pulled his head out of the swirling silver liquid. Why had Snape said that? His words could be misconstrued to mean that he actually cared about whether Harry died or not. That didn't make sense. Snape was the one who goaded him, who tried to get him to do something foolish so he would be in danger. This memory didn't make any sense, even when Dumbledore's words ran across his mind.

_Look and see. You must trust me, and you must trust Snape. Look and see. _

He had looked and he did not want to see. Harry turned away from the pensieve and shoved the bowl away from him, not caring if any of the precious liquid spilled out. He stared instead at golden egg cradled by his pillow. It seemed to be glowing a little now; certainly it wasn't as dull as it was before. He wondered how long it would take Fawkes to come out of this retreat.

Somehow the phoenix always managed to comfort him with his presence. Harry reached down to gently hold the egg in his hands. He felt a strange warmth suffuse his body and he smiled a little. Any bit of comfort helped and he would gladly take it.

Because who knew what tomorrow held?

-

Harry was woken up by loud knocking and his Aunt's shrilly voice. He jerked his head, surprised that he'd managed to fall asleep in the middle of the day. He rearranged his skewed glasses and said, "I'll be right down!"

Turning to his clock, he saw that it was past one. He frowned and wondered if he would get any lunch. His stomach rumbled a bit, obviously the same question lingering in its empty pit. Harry shrugged and was about to roll out of bed when he remembered that he'd been holding the phoenix's egg. Suddenly he froze and looked around frantically. Where was it?

Lying on a pillow like it had been before. Harry stared at the now brightly glowing egg, wondering how it'd gotten back to that position. He knew he was a strange sleeper, what with these Voldemort-induced dreams, but he'd never been known to do things in his sleep other than make horrible noises. Somehow he didn't think he was the one who'd managed to move the egg back onto the pillow and not crush it.

"You're one weird egg," muttered Harry before the pounding on the door drew his attention away from the phoenix egg. "I'm coming!" he exclaimed. "I was sleeping!"

There was something definitely wrong with his Aunt when she didn't even glare at him after he opened the door. Instead, Petunia started marching down the hall to the stairs. Harry was left with no choice but to follow her to the kitchen table, where to his surprise, he saw a sandwich made for him as well as a cup of steaming tea. He glanced up at Petunia just in time to see her disappear into the den.

He wanted to call after her and thank her, but then that would be unlike him and he was almost afraid that she would say something nasty to ruin this kind gesture. Harry sat down at the table and picked up the sandwich. He held it up and looked at the contents, not seeing anything wrong with it. Bringing it close to his nose, he sniffed at it suspiciously and the smell only made his mouth water. It had all the things he liked in a sandwich, fresh lettuce and tomatoes on roast beef slathered generously with a rich steak sauce. This was a good lunch and Petunia had made it for him.

How odd. Harry shrugged and took a bite. Whatever weird mood she was in, being nice to him and not letting Vernon pick on him, he'd take advantage of it. For once, it was nice not being ragged at, especially when life was beginning to seem awfully short.

Swallowing the food was easy, swallowing his sorrow was much harder.

**TBC**


	4. Unbreakable Vow

**HARRY POTTER AND THE PHOENIX'S SONG**  
_Unbreakable Vow_

Disclaimer: I do not own HP and am making no profit from this.  
Feedback is very much appreciated.

-

It occurred to Harry later that day that he hadn't seen Dudley around at all. He had been randomly staring at the golden egg and at the pensieve, wondering when Fawkes would hatch and how he could get around acceding to Dumbledore's dying request by fulfilling it to a shifty degree. Unfortunately, he didn't see a way around it, which was why he let his thoughts drift to other more pleasant directions that did not involve Snape being any different from what he'd always suspected.

His fat, loud cousin was a good distraction. The strange thing was Harry hadn't even heard the sounds of his heavy footsteps on the stairs. He hadn't even seen him at dinner last night, and he hadn't noticed until today. Maybe Dudley was visiting a friend or something. Maybe that was why Petunia was so odd. There was no Dudders around for her to coddle.

"Dinnertime!" said Petunia. "Get downstairs before your soup gets cold."

How funny when his world was falling apart, his only family left was nice to him. Well, he didn't know if Dudley would be nice, but Petunia certainly was and Vernon didn't count. Harry didn't like to think of Vernon as his Uncle and really he didn't understand why his Aunt had married such a blustering pig.

Harry opened the door before Petunia could rap her knuckles on the wood. "Thank you," he said because he found the voice to be polite. "You didn't have to. I could have fixed something for myself."

His Aunt shrugged her thin shoulders and Harry found that the usual scowl that twisted her features was missing. "I made some for myself and it wasn't that much harder to make enough for you."

Harry bit his tongue before he could say that _in the past_ it would have been an unnecessary hardship and waste to make him some decent food, much less soup. He smiled instead and cleared his throat. "Well, thanks then."

Nodding stiffly, Petunia turned and started heading down the stairs. Harry watched her go, the question of where her son was popped into his head and before he could stop his mouth, he asked, "Where's Dudley?"

She stopped suddenly and whirled around, a most unpleasant expression on his face. Harry cringed inwardly, but was determined not to show any weakness to her that she could exploit at a later time. "That's none of your concern," she snapped and to his astonishment, she said nothing else. She continued down the stairs as if she was reprimanding him for not making his bed.

Harry hesitated and decided that it would only piss her off even more if he didn't eat the soup she had so thoughtfully prepared. A tingle of doubt shot down his spine when he thought of how Vernon would react to Petunia actually cooking something for him. But it turned out that he didn't have to worry about anything. His Uncle wasn't at home and it was just him and Petunia at the table, eating.

-

Sitting in his room late that evening, after trying to figure out when he could leave this place and begin his search for the horcruxes, Harry knew that he had no choice but to continue with the pensieve and the memories. Dumbledore was a sly fox, look how neatly he had arranged things after his death, and so Harry was almost certain that there was more in that pensieve than just bloody Snape.

Carefully Harry picked up the pensieve and placed it between his legs. He took a deep breath and just went for it. After all, that's what he did. Be impulsive, be strong and try to forget his fears…

"_You knew, but still you did it!" shouted Snape, waving his hand at Dumbledore's dead hand. It did not look as bad as it had, but it was still a husk of what it had been. "Yet you still put on the blasted ring!" _

"_I had no choice," said Dumbledore, almost softly. "You know that." _

"_I could have put it on," hissed Snape. He took a step forward at Dumbledore and Harry had never really noticed that the two men were virtually the same height. "It could have been me." _

"_And where would that have gotten us, my boy?" asked Dumbledore. "You know fully well, we need you more than we need me." _

_Snape looked away from Dumbledore and started pacing around the Headmaster's Office. "That will not be what others will think." _

"_When you have you ever cared?" _

_Abruptly Snape stopped and his shoulders seemed to hunch forward. Not once had Harry even seen Snape with his shoulders not pushed backwards and his back irrepressibly straight. It was a well-known fact that Snape had an iron rod shoved up his arse. Greasy git. _

"_At least tried to make others believe that you didn't," said Dumbledore softly. "You might want everyone to think you are a heartless bastard, but inside of you—you don't want to be thought as evil. You don't want to be thought of as Voldemort's man, do you?" _

"_Since you seem to analyze people so well, Albus, why don't you tell me?" retorted Snape. "After all, that is what you do best." _

"_Severus…"_

"_Don't!" he snapped. "Just—don't." _

_Stepping forward, Dumbledore laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "It will be okay." _

Harry shuddered, pulling himself out of the pensieve before the next memory could start. What in bloody hell was Dumbledore trying to prove? Did he really think a memory of Snape snapping at Dumbledore for basically being a fool was going to make him trust the git! Harry scowled and shoved the pensieve away. These memories were pointless. Snape was a good liar, had to be if he was fooling Voldemort and really fooling Dumbledore.

One tiny part of Harry, though, thought that maybe—just maybe—Snape had been fooling Voldemort by making it look like he was fooling Dumbledore even though he was really fooling Voldemort.

Harry shook his head. That was just too fucked up to be real. He glared down at the pensieve and wondered if he should keep going or just… stop. His eyes wandered to the letter lying on the nightstand next to him and he knew the right choice to make, he did owe Dumbledore this. This one little thing. Harry placed his hands on the pensieve and slowly drew it back to him.

"_You need to come with me to my house at Spinner's End," said Snape insistently. "There are things there that can help you." _

"_Severus, my boy…" began Dumbledore, his voice quite faint and his face very ill-looking. _

"_No," snapped Snape, pushing his face forward, "you don't understand." He gestured at Dumbledore's crippled, dead hand. "This will kill you and I cannot stop this. I can only delay it, but only if you do what I say."_

_The Headmaster looked into Snape's hard, beady eyes. "I cannot waste time." _

"_You are needed." Snape's gaze never wavered, not even a little. "Still." _

_Dumbledore was the one who looked away first. "How long do I have?" _

"_I'll give you as long as I am able." _

_Dumbledore smiled slowly and sadly. _

So he knew, Harry thought, dropping his head onto his pillow. Dumbledore knew he was going to die. Snape knew he was going to die. Who else? Who else had known? Harry balled his fist up and slammed it into his bed. Had McGonagall? He bit his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

If they'd known, why hadn't they told him? He should have known, should have known about this. Dumbledore—_god_—just when Harry felt like he was beginning to really connect with him, he was gone. Just thinking about how much he still had to learn from the Headmaster was depressing. Just thinking about the time when he thought anything was possible, as long as Dumbledore was by his side. He didn't have to worry about Voldemort, not really. Now he did.

There was no one he could rely on, not even his friends, Ron and Hermione. Harry couldn't put them in danger and they would be, if they were with him. Look at Cedric. The memory was still sharp, still relentless. Cho's face also coming to mind, her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. Harry shook his head and slumped forward. Sirius. His godfather. Harry had just begun to get to know him when he was taken. If there was anything that was his fault, it was that. How could he even think to ask Ron and Hermione for help, when it would put them into that kind of danger?

And if Dumbledore thought he could trust in Snape, from some puny memories in a pensieve, then he had to be delusional. Harry twisted his covers into his fist. Dumbledore hadn't known then, but Snape's offer to help was all a hoax. Of course, Snape would help Dumbledore. Why not? Dumbledore was going to die. They both knew it. Helping only staved off the inevitable. Harry dug his nails into the fabric. Had Voldemort laughed when he'd heard that Snape had _helped_ Dumbledore? That Dumbledore trusted Snape to help him? Harry felt his stomach twist and turn, almost heaving. Had Snape, in pretending to help, actually made it worse?

Harry knew what kind of things Snape could do. He had the book, the hard evidence. If Snape could teach an incompetent like him to brew a perfect potion, then of course he could kill Dumbledore slowly by helping him. Harry swallowed down the threat of bile and let his eyes wander to his rucksack. In the very bottom, the book—_The property of the Half-Blood Prince_—was there. Why he had brought it, he didn't know. But he had kept it, because in his mind he knew that the only way to really defeat Voldemort, to even have the chance, was to use dark magic.

Just thinking about the book made his hands twitch. Harry let go of the sheets and pressed his hands together to still them. It didn't matter who that book had belonged to, who had even written it, if it would help—it didn't matter the origins. What mattered is what he did with it, what his knowledge gleaned from the dark material would allow him to do. It wasn't something he'd be proud of, but it would do the job. And in the end, that was what everyone wanted. They wanted him to be a bloody hero.

-

No matter how hard he tried to sleep, to forget about the pensieve and its contents, Harry couldn't. Doubt, doubt that had not been there before, kept creeping into his mind. What if he was wrong about Snape, what if… he really ought to trust Snape? But that was ridiculous and Harry scowled, shaking his head. Snape wouldn't have killed Dumbledore if he'd been on their side. How did you kill someone, even if they were going to die, for no reason?

Harry slammed his fist into his pillow and then abruptly sat up. He grabbed the pensieve from the side table and dropped it between his legs. He stared at the swirling liquid and just dove in, not even bothering to think about it—knowing that if he did, that maybe he wouldn't want to find out what Dumbledore wanted him to understand and accept.

"_I meant what I said." Dumbledore stood up from his desk in the Headmaster's Office and actually walked over to where Snape was pacing back and forth at an almost dizzying speed. "You did the right thing."_

"_You ask," said Snape, stopping in mid-stride, his robes swishing past him and then settling back, "you ask too much."_

"_It's what you must do," said Dumbledore, placing a hand on Snape's shoulder. _

_Snape jerked away from Dumbledore's touch and he whirled around, his face so white and his eyes so prominent, bugging outward. He opened his mouth to shout, Harry thought, but Snape ended up saying nothing at all. The Potions Master's shoulders slumped forward and he slowly backed up, his eyes dropping to the floor. _

"_I know it's hard for you, but for the greater good, this is what must be done." Dumbledore stepped forward and grabbed Snape by the shoulders. "Look at me, Severus." Snape didn't look up. "Look at me!" _

_And Snape did. "Albus, you—"_

"_I understand you," said Dumbledore and he smiled. "But you must understand that this is the only way." Both of them were staring hard at each other, their eyes never wavering at the intensity of this moment. "You cannot hesitate. This is the only way to get Voldemort," Snape flinched when Dumbledore said the name, "to trust you again." Dumbledore paused, but his hands didn't drop and he didn't back away. "You must do this for me." _

"_I will kill you," said Snape in a soft, defeated voice. "I will." _

Harry didn't even have a chance to gather his thoughts before he was being propelled into another memory. Suddenly, he didn't know where he was and what he was doing but this place was strange and unfamiliar and the only thing he actually recognized was the hooked nose and greasy hair of a younger Severus Snape.

"_I hate you," said Snape, looking down at a stone marker that was inscribed: James Potter. "I hate you." The wind whistled around Snape, making his cloak billow up around him and his hair to cover his face, and it was the only sound in this lonely, abandoned field of the long dead. Snape turned and his gaze fell upon another marker, Lily Evans Potter. "You foolish girl," said Snape, his eyes fluttering close. "You stupid girl." _

"_Will you do it?" said Dumbledore, coming up from behind Snape and stopping next to him. "Will you make the vow?" _

_Snape's eyes snapped open, but he didn't turn to Dumbledore. "Why would I?" _

"_Because you do not enjoy inflicting pain for the sake of it," said Dumbledore, gazing out at the craggy, sparsely grassed field where the sun barely touched the ground, hidden as it was behind thick, gray clouds. "You must have a concrete reason and though vengeance is not the best route, it at least is an understandable one." _

"_Why should I protect _their_ child?" rasped Snape, his black eyes so dark that they were indiscernible. _

"_Because he is the one who will save us and you." _

_Snape looked at Dumbledore and was about to say something—_

Harry was jerked out of that scene and felt himself being pulled along to another memory, skipping past others with such speed they were blurred until he couldn't tell what he was seeing and didn't care to figure them out since it was the first time going fast had made his stomach turn.

_Snape and Dumbledore were again in the Headmaster's Office, but they were not sitting, facing each other with a desk between them. Instead they were standing in the middle of the brightly colored rug, each clasping the other's right hand as Fawkes hovered over them, holding a wand in each of his claws. Dumbledore smiled at Snape and asked, "Will you, Severus Snape, swear to protect and care for Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily Potter, no matter what the future may hold?"_

"_I will," said Snape._

_Brilliant, red flame burst from both wands, wrapping around Dumbledore and Snape's entwined hands and twisting into a knot before it settled into their flesh and disappeared belying its physical presence, eternally embedding itself inside them._

"_And will you save his life from harm by giving your own?" _

"_I will." _

_Another burst of fire swirled around their hands burning fiercely before extinguishing._

"_And, if he should falter, will you help him fulfill his destiny?" _

"_Yes." _

_Dumbledore nodded and Fawkes flew down and touched their hands with the wands and more fire threads spun out and wrapped around them, binding them to this promise, this vow that they had undertaken for the sake of a boy called Harry Potter_.

Harry stumbled out of this memory, entirely disoriented and he didn't have a clue what had gone on between Dumbledore and Snape, all he understood was that it had been very important and that it involved him. This must have happened right after when they were in the graveyard. Somehow, someway, Dumbledore had convinced Snape to protect him, to save him, to actually help him—which meant that Snape was on their side. At least, Snape was on his side. It didn't mean that Snape couldn't kill Dumbledore, it just meant Snape couldn't harm him. But there could be some way around that magic, Harry thought, after all this was Snape and Snape _had_ used magic on him in the past, _had_ punished him. That wasn't very protecting or caring of him, was it?

Harry wished that Hermione was here, that he could ask her about this swearing ritual, he knew that he could owl her, but if he heard from her he was afraid that his resolve to keep his friends out of it would cave. For so long, he had depended on Ron and Hermione to be next to him, but this time they couldn't. He knew that and he hoped that one day they would understand. He had to separate himself from them now, while he could. Because it was his name that was in the prophecy, not theirs, and no matter what—he wouldn't let anyone die for him. Even if it was Snape.

**TBC**


	5. Phoenix Rising

**HARRY POTTER AND THE PHOENIX'S SONG**  
_Phoenix Rising_

Disclaimer: I do not own HP and am making no profit from this.  
Feedback is very much appreciated.

-

_Someone was shaking him hard, telling him to get up, but Harry didn't want to wake up yet. It was too early and it wasn't the right time. He was tired and he wanted to sleep more, but whoever it was wouldn't stop. Harry tried to roll away, but he couldn't escape. He groaned and was about to tell them to bugger off, but the person spoke first: "You must get up." _

_Oh god, Harry knew whose voice that was. It was Snape. Harry squeezed his eyes shut even more, not wanting to open them and see the greasy git's face. Maybe if he just thought really really hard then this nightmare would end and he could wake up and Snape would not be there. _

"_Potter," snapped Snape, "get up, now!" _

_If there was one thing to be said about Snape, Harry thought, cracking his eyes open, he knew how to raise his voice. Just as Harry suspected, Snape was looming over him and he could see Snape rather well despite not having his glasses on. Harry reached instinctively for them, but to his surprise he didn't feel the table or his glasses. He turned away from Snape and squinted hard. Where were they? _

"_Pay attention," said Snape, grabbing Harry by the chin and dragging his face back to him. "There isn't much time." _

"_I need my glasses," said Harry as he tried to jerk his chin away from Snape's hold, but didn't succeed. _

"_Listen carefully," said Snape as if Harry hadn't said anything at all. "The blood protection on your aunt's house disappears the day you turn seventeen. There is only one way to restore it and it requires a sacrifice that must be willingly made." Snape suddenly started wheezing and Harry felt his hand go cold. Harry blinked a few times and sure enough, Snape looked more like a ghost than a real person. "Not much time," he croaked. "Look at the book, the back. It's all there." _

_Harry opened his mouth, actually wanting to ask Snape a question, but Snape was already gone. He had disappeared and Harry suddenly realized he was the only one here. There was nothing else, no bed, no walls, nothing. This was dead space and Harry didn't know how to get out of this nightmare. He would have crouched down, but he no longer felt like he had a body he could control. Once again, someone else was shaking him quite hard. _

"Wake up, boy!" said Vernon, sounding like he was a mile away. "Get your lazy arse out of the bed!"

"Don't bother him," Harry heard Aunt Petunia snap at Uncle Vernon. "If he wants to sleep, let him."

"I don't understand why you're being nice to the boy," said Vernon. "Why do you care? He's a _freak!_"

"Don't you have to be at work?" said Petunia.

Harry couldn't hear Vernon's reply, but he did hear his uncle walk away. There was no mistaking the sound of Vernon's heavy footsteps going down the stairs, especially when Dudley wasn't home. While Harry certainly didn't mind his aunt finding a way to get Vernon out of the house, he still would have liked to hear her answer. Why was she being so nice? And why did it seem like she might actually care about him? At least, she wasn't letting Vernon get at him.

That was something.

-

The book was sitting on his dresser, waiting to be opened, but Harry didn't want to listen to his dreams. They had been wrong before. And it wasn't like he was Dumbledore. He didn't really trust Snape, even though he knew pensieves didn't lie and whatever Snape had sworn to Dumbledore must have been pretty damn powerful for Dumbledore to trust him that much. Harry rolled over onto his stomach and placed his head on his pillow. He didn't want to look into the book. He didn't want to listen to Snape.

His eyes shifted from the book to the egg and he wondered when and if it would even hatch. But those thoughts didn't hold his attention. Soon he heard Snape's voice again. It kept saying in his head that there wasn't much time. That he needed to look in the book. It's all there and it's all there. All he had to do was open it, to the back, and it would be there. Of course, that was all a dream. Wasn't it?

Harry pushed himself off the bed and grabbed it and flipped it to the very back. He had to turn a few more pages and there he saw it, outlined quite clearly in a crimson so deep that it looked almost black, but somehow, Harry knew it was actually red. On the page, it said quite clearly what this spell was for. _Blood Given is Blood Protected._

-

It turned out the blood protection spell was quite complex and time consuming, which was probably why Snape had told him that he didn't have much time. At first had Harry thought Snape had been referring to himself. Either way, if Harry wanted to get this done so he could leave and go after the horcruxes any time soon, he needed to get started. The only problem was he didn't quite know where to begin. He knew what he needed to do, but it wasn't like he could ask Aunt Petunia if she would kindly give him a knife and her wrist so he could slash it open and combine it with his blood. She would look at him like he was crazy, even if it was to protect her house and family.

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his perpetually messy hair. For some reason, it really never did want to stay down. One day while at the Weasley's as they were waiting for Bill and Fleur's wedding to begin, Hermioen had suggested that he ought to just grow it out. It would take a while, but Harry thought her idea had merit. If he couldn't get it to stay put, maybe gravity would do the work for him.

Of course, he knew thinking about that was only an excuse so he didn't have to think about the more difficult issues that were spinning around in his head. Like how to approach his aunt and ask her if she'd mind giving him some of her blood. Then there was the actual spell to perform. The incantation was written in Latin, easy enough to read, but he was worried about the pronunciation. After all, one syllable off could change the purpose of the spell and he couldn't have that. Petunia needed the protection, and Dudley, and even Vernon.

Harry rubbed his tired eyes and blinked until his vision cleared up and he could actually read the text. Snape's handwriting, while legible, wasn't exactly easy to read. Harry softly started saying the spell, slowly and making sure each syllable wasn't pronounced any differently than the rest. He read and read until the words began to blur and he didn't know what he was reading anymore.

-

"_I hope this time," said Snape because there was no mistaking _that_ voice, "you will listen to me!" Harry would have cringed, but he didn't want to show weakness. So he just opened his eyes, looking steadily at his former professor. "Have you found the spell?" _

_Harry nodded, seeing no reason not to confirm it, considering that this all had to be a wild, wild dream. He knew that he must have seen the blood protection spell before, but had just never connected it to the one his mother might have used. In a way, he couldn't believe he was taking it seriously. But then, the spell on Malfoy had worked. It had worked astonishingly well. It'd been crueler, though, than he had suspected. But if the protection spell was more powerful than he thought, that would be a very good thing. _

"_You must act quickly," said Snape. "You cannot delay this. Do you understand me?" He didn't wait for Harry to answer, though. He paused only a moment before continuing, "You have to finish this soon. Do not hesitate!" _

_Easy enough for him to say, Harry thought. It wasn't like Snape had to go up to his Aunt Petunia and say: _Would you mind bleeding for me? _Though, if Snape did go up and ask her, she probably would do it. There was something quite intimidating and menacing about him. Harry sighed. Too bad this was all just some weird, crazy dream and any minute now he'd wake up and Snape would be gone._

"_Potter!" exclaimed Snape so loudly that Harry jerked his head to look at the man where he was still standing in front glowering down at Harry. "Are you _paying_ attention?" _

_Harry felt his cheeks heat up and he wished he could just disappear right this second. But, of course, his dream wouldn't oblige him and he was still here, had to face this unreal Snape in this conjured world and it was so real that Harry really wanted to wake up. Like, right, now._

_Instead of being removed from this dream, he was thrust further into it when Snape grabbed his by the chin with enough force to leave marks. "The Dark Lord is moving." Snape leaned close enough that Harry wished he could just sink to the floor to escape him. "He is coming for you. He knows that the protection is fading. He knows you are weak, Potter." _

"Harry!" exclaimed a shrilly voice that could not be Snape's. Indeed, Snape would probably rather suffocate than call him by his first name. "Get up! It's dinner time!"

Already was Harry's first thought before he registered that it must be Aunt Petunia speaking. But why was she so loud? He was right here, in the same room, and she really did not need to shout. Harry cracked his eyes opened and as usual, she was a blurry, angular blob. "I heard you," he said, more for his benefit than hers. It would get her to stop shouting and thus let his ears stop ringing.

"About time," she muttered and turned to walk out the room. "Get downstairs before your dinner gets cold."

If it were any other day at any other prior time, she would have said that he unfortunately wouldn't be having dinner because he was not down in time to set the table. How things change, he thought and rubbed his aching scar, and what odd dreams he had.

-

Dinner was good and Harry enjoyed it. Aunt Petunia wasn't a bad cook and it didn't hurt that Uncle Vernon was no where in sight. He must have a late night at work again. Thank Merlin. Harry didn't think he could deal with him tonight, not when he had important matters to discuss with his aunt. Things that would be difficult with just her and probably would be impossible with Uncle Vernon there.

Well, here went nothing.

"Uh," began Harry and he fidgeted in the chair. For a brief moment, he thought it was funny how he could bravely face Voldemort and yet shy away from his own _magic-less_ aunt. "You know about the protection wards on this house, right?"

Aunt Petunia looked at him and raised an eyebrow as if to say, was he stupid or something? "Of course," she said. "That's why you're here."

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. "But the spell ends when I turn seventeen, unless…"

"Unless what?"

"I renew it." He looked down at his nearly empty plate. "I need your blood to do it. Your blood and mine."

-

Aunt Petunia turned out to be quite cooperative, though a bit squeamish when Harry had gotten the knife out. Still she'd held out her hand, just looking away when he sliced her wrist and let the blood drip to the heart of the house. Then he cut his own wrist and let his blood mingle with hers.

He dropped the knife to the floor and picked up his wand. He whispered the healing charm he'd learned just before and he was relieved to see it close both wrists neatly. His aunt looked at him and nodded. She held out her hands and he took them in his, glad she had remembered the next part of the ritual.

Harry closed his eyes and started chanting the ancient spell. It was in Latin and some other language he wasn't sure of, but the pronunciation had been there, written in the margins as if the book knew he had no clue how to pronounce these words. Harry kept murmuring them, remembering to keep each syllable distinct but not overemphasized. He could hear Hermione lecturing him faintly in his head, to be careful, be careful.

Words held much power.

He had to be doing right, it would feel wrong otherwise. It would be disastrous. Blood magic. Who knew what would happen? But it felt warm and soft like a blanket wrapping around him and when he opened his eyes the room was filled with a light that burned his eyes. And it seemed to say, everything was going to be okay.

"Oh," said Petunia. She was looking around the room and her hands actually tightened their hold on his. "We did it." She glanced back at him. "Didn't we?"

Harry nodded. "You're safe."

-

That night Harry dream of fire and ashes and smoke, the first time he had dreamt of anything other than Severus and those weird events that had strangely helped him get done what needed to be done. He abruptly opened his eyes and jerked his head toward the table where he had kept the phoenix egg wrapped up in one of his old shirts. He fumbled for his glasses, snagging them on his second try. He put them on and suddenly everything was back into focus and he could actually see the egg instead of just knowing its general location.

The egg was shaking rather violently, so much so that Harry was afraid that it was going to fall to the ground. He grabbed the egg and tried to steady it, but he had to tear his hands away because it was simply too hot. Harry glanced in alarm at the egg when it suddenly burst into flames, and for a moment he thought it was going to set the house on fire and his Aunt Petunia would surely wring his neck, but then he saw that his shirt wasn't on fire and neither was the table.

Harry didn't quite know what was going on, but it looked like it was time for Fawkes to rise. If Hermione were here, she'd know what to do. All he could do was sit there and stare, watching the flames reaching further up and widening around the egg until he couldn't even see it anymore. Everything would be all right, even if he couldn't help and felt powerless. It had to be.

Suddenly he was certain everything was going to be fine. It was such a pure feeling that Harry almost felt like not only this would be okay in the end, but _everything_. Even Voldemort. For one moment, Harry felt sure of who he was and who he had to be. It was then that he saw the flames burst outward and head toward him, swirling around him with such a speed that even if he had his Firebolt in hand to try and escape it, he still would have been trapped. And slowly and surely, the flame disappeared and Harry saw the small, wrinkled and fairly ugly phoenix flapping his fuzzy wings, a phoenix that most definitely did not look like Fawkes.

Instead of brilliant red, this phoenix was a pale gold with glints of fiery orange. When the phoenix lifted his head up and looked at Harry with his silver eyes, Harry knew that he was right. This phoenix wasn't Fawkes. This phoenix said his name was Aywell and that Harry Potter belonged to him. Immediately after Aywell had said that, Harry had almost wanted to laugh, his thoughts running away from him as he thought back to Dumbledore and Fawkes. He couldn't imagine Fawkes saying something like that, but then he'd never really heard Fawkes' voice. He only knew Fawkes as well as he had let himself be known.

_You, _said Aywell once more, staring at Harry with swirling eyes, _belong to me._

And Harry could hear Hermione protesting this in his head, but he actually didn't think he minded this possession. It felt nice to belong, for once, to someone—even if it was a phoenix.

**TBC**

A/N: I am off to the UK to study abroad for a semester so updates will probably be non-existent. If you're in the UK and wouldn't mind me visiting wherever you are, drop me an email or review or something. I'll be on the southeast side, but definitely up for some traveling.


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